She had merely run home escorted, of course, through the perils of the wood to impart her great news and bring her mother back to lunch, which Roy persistently called 'tiffin. Food disposed of, they stepped straight out of the house into a world of their own the world of their 'Game-without-an-End'; the rose garden, the wood, the regal splendours of the moor, gleaming and glooming under shadows of drifting cloud: on and on, in a golden haze of content, talking, endlessly talking....